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"Come for Me"

I stare at him and see he knows my name,
it is upon his lengthy list.  His lack
of company discriminate - the same
for all - has added me to his ill stack.

He cannot smile, but yet I feel his smirk
abounding - much more so in night than light,
respite for now till his encroaching lurk
makes day unsafe - leaves me no peace to write.

Immortal words and great renown cannot
at all the pressures timed of his dark hands
to halt.  I sit and write but this my lot
will not by loving craft stop falling sands.

I name you Death, though you have named nothing
as yet.  An aura, dread itself, you bear
and hope from me my selfish fear to wring -
as if that should so act as Charon's fare.

I hope, my friend, you do not linger long
past my own ready will's sweet time.  I see
you think my words a sort of pride - a wrong.
Yet all I can but say is, "Come for me."

I am myself a man - no more - and can
in view of fear partake of it at will
until I ready me to it and ban
disquiet.  So I now have time to kill.

No hero I, who live with fear in hope
I come to rest soon at my maker's knee.
My trepidation spreads as I still grope
for joy and long to hear His "Come for me."